


In Which Sam is Tired

by Pastelbees



Series: Literally giving everyone my disabilities [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autistic Sam, Drabbles, M/M, Misophonia, Misophonic Sam, Neurodivergent Sam, Read the notes for trigger warnings, Trans Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:44:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastelbees/pseuds/Pastelbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some drabbles about about a neurodivergent Sam Winchester who had good days and bad days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Sam is Tired

**Author's Note:**

> Tw for anxiety, eating disorders, abuse, panic attacks, self harm (minor and mentioned in passing), typical misophonic thoughts, and pretty much what y'all would expect me to write when I feel bad and am lowkey putting characters through my bs. Sorry lol, I wrote this very quickly and it jumps around time pieces.

**15.** Sam felt like there was acid in his chest, ice in his brain, cement in his veins.

His alarm played a tune that had sounded nice when he had chosen it but now it was bad. Bad and bad and bad and bad and…. The words repeated in his head, but he didn’t actually start saying them until he was out of his bed, moving sluggishly as he went to tug on clothes he’d already set out for the day.

The room felt too cold and with every step Sam felt like there was some sort of something in his lungs. His stomach hurt in a way that was all too familiar, his whole body seeming to scream that nothing was right. When he saw his choice for clothing from the night before he grimaced.

It was a shirt he’d thought he’d have liked to wear (soft and a gray that made his skin seem less sickly in the light of his bedroom), but now just the thought of touching it was bad and bad and bad and…. He whispered the words as he tugged on skinny jeans- the only type of jeans he liked to wear- but didn’t dare touch the shirt. Instead he looked over to the pile of dirty clothes in his room, panic setting in when he didn’t automatically see the blue-grey color of his favorite tee. In a dissociative daze he dug through the dirty things until he finally _finally_ pulled out the superhero top.

It was soft against his hands and though he cringed at what he had to wear underneath it, it distracted him from the bad feelings rising up inside of him. He continued to repeat words, but they changed once he was wearing the shirt.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay okay okay…

Going back over to his bed, he looked at the homemade wristband on his arm and read over the checklist written on the old scrapbook paper he’d used to create it. Everything was too real and too much and he wanted to cry but he kept reaching for the things on the list, forcing himself through the situation even though he seemed to be able to feel every single thing. (Distantly, the sound of Dean’s footsteps on the wooden floor had him cringing, too loud though not in a Bad Sound™ sort of way.)

 _Textbooks_ , check.

 _Money for lunch_ , check. (He wouldn’t actually end up getting lunch but it was nice to have the choice if he actually chose to eat.)

 _Laptop and charger_ , check.

 _Headphones,_ check.

 _Phone_ , check.

He was afraid of leaving things behind, knowing that messing up the system would leave him feeling just as bad if not worse than he was feeling that morning. Even with the checklist, he went over the things in his bag again.

 _Textbooks?_ Check.

 _Phone?_ Check.

 _Make yourself some lunch._ He’d written in green on the band. He didn’t, but he made sure to have the money in case he wanted some later. Always a backup plan when he didn’t have the spoons to make a meal. (Or the idea of hearing anything in his mouth was scary.)

As he went to leave his room, he repreated what he needed to do.

“Shoes, toothbrush, breakfast. Shoes, toothbrush, breakfast. Shoes, toothbrush, breakfast.”

God, even if they weren’t always like this, he hated mornings. By the time he was around Dean, his lips were sealed and he had popped in a pair of headphones. His older brother grimaced but said nothing.

Dean always hated his headphones.

-

 **20.** Sam alternated drumming his fingers against his thighs as he went to his classes and holding his backpack as close as he could to his body like armor. Some days, he was happy to rub his knuckles against one another, or against his thigh. Some days, he was anxious enough to end up doing both during the walk. Many days, however, he clutched onto his heavy backpack’s straps the entire way to English. Today was that day.

He didn’t want anyone to talk to him. He had a system for bad days and even if he’d missed breakfast (okay, he never ate breakfast but today he really had thought he might be able to do it without feeling bad- at least he’d told himself that the night before and written it on his wristband.) he wanted to stop by the vending machine for a coke and a pack of m&m’s. He always got something to drink before class and this day- despite its shittiness- would be no exception.

When he showed up to English at his usual half an hour early, Jess was waiting at the bench outside the classroom. Sam sat beside her, on the floor though there was space on the bench, and pulled out his phone. Sam knew Jess would start talking soon about something, knew he’d end up participating in the conversation with an exhaustingly false happiness that would disappear as soon as he ran out of the script he was running, but he followed the routine anyways.

It sucked. But Sam was never one to quiet just because he felt like curling into a ball and never speaking to anyone ever again. He’d never had the privilege of a public breakdown. I guess that’s what happens when your parents whip the fear of God into you.

-

 **Somewhere in his 20's.** Gabriel was soft.

Sam didn’t know what that meant exactly, or how to explain it to other people, but Gabriel was soft.

His hair was the kind that made Sam want to touch it as much as possible. His nose was the sort of nose Sam had to resist walking up to and tapping (old habit), and his body itself was the physical kind of soft that Sam had always found attractive.

His emotions, however, changed in their softness.

When he was angry, Sam cringed and had to stop himself from repeating the words in his head. Gabriel was never angry with Sam, but the Winchester boy had known from a very young age that emotions can turn at a moments notice. Because of that, he was afraid. Because of that, Gabriel didn’t always seem so soft.

In his head, Sam thought uncontrollably, “Danger, danger, Will Robinson. Danger, danger.” Any time he heard him raise his voice.

When Gabriel learned of this- from Castiel of all angels because Sam didn’t know how to bring it up without being afraid- he became soft again. He didn’t know, Cas had explained, but now he did and he was making an effort to quiet down.

Sam cried when he heard, knowing somebody actually cared enough to change something like that just to make him unafraid.

-

 **30's.** When Sam and Gabriel went shopping, Gabriel found himself more often than not taking hold of Sam’s hand and keeping their’s intertwined. Sometimes they were good, when Sam was having a nice day and nobody had been too loud for him to stand. But sometimes they weren’t as good, and Sam needed somebody to hold his hand so he wouldn’t end up staring at the chocolate chips for ten minutes before wandering off to the pet section.

Sometimes the day had been great and they still ended up holding hands. He wasn’t “like a child” as many said, he just got distracted easier, forgot the purpose of being at the store a lot quicker. That was just the way Sam was in big places like a Kroger.

Gabriel didn’t mind. He liked holding hands with Sam almost as much as he liked the conversations they got into when at the grocery store.

“So get this,” He’d start when he’d seen something that reminded him of a fact or a story. Gabriel would smile at his boyfriend and squeeze where their hands were together. Sometimes he’d even go so far as a ‘get what’ to encourage him, though it really depended on how much he wanted Sam to poke him in the shoulder.

His favorite thing to talk about was plants- specifically the ones that went into gardens. When they passed the produce section of the grocery store, he’d start bouncing on his feet in infectious excitement.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Sam would chime, happy as can be. Gabe would turn to him, eyebrows raised as he had let go of his partner’s hand as well as the buggy to inspect some carrots. “So get this,”

There’d be a pause, like he was waiting for permission to go on though they both knew he didn’t need it. Gabriel was eager to know what made the Winchester so happy.

And then he’d be off. He’d spend ten minutes telling Gabriel about tomato potato plants, his opinions on them, random facts about when they were created. The angel would grin, nodding as he listened and asked genuine questions.

(“Are they as big as regular tomatoes or is there a catch?” “Can they do this with other plants?” “What do you mean that video about kiwi bananas was fake, I was excited babe. Babe c’mon. Please tell me at least they can mix a kiwi with _something_.”)

Sometimes- and Father help him it was the most adorable thing- Sam would get so excited about his special interests he’d get this smile on his face as he bounced up and down even after the first couple of seconds of talking. Gabriel was in love and this man would be the death of him, especially when he watched Sam start talking with his brother about the angel’s special interest. Any time they saw honey at the grocery store, Gabriel was brought back to watching the two of them grinning and happy as they traded facts about the striped insects he’d come to tolerate.

“They’re just so innocent and pure and _good_ Gabe.”

-

 **15.** Sometimes things were really bad.

Sam wouldn’t be able to find the words to explain it, he could barely find words at all. One minute things would be alright but the next his head was whispering to him all the bad things that had ever happened to him. Times when he’d been replaced, when people he loved had loved somebody better, when he hadn’t felt like he was good enough to have somebody all to himself or deserved it.

He’d be walking down the hallway when all of the sudden out of nowhere-

_Remember when your mother lied about loving you? Remember what she said? Remember when he said he loved you? Remember the time he found somebody else? Remember not being good enough? Remember how ugly you are? Remember this noise? Remember that one? Oh, I bet you remember her hands on you don’t you? What about that other time?_

And he couldn’t move.

And his chest was tight and his lungs wouldn’t take air like they should.

And he would be angry at himself for existing,

And he wouldn’t want to talk to anybody or anything at all because he just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. He’d remind himself he was loved but it didn’t matter in the end. His mind would convince him otherwise. It always would it always will.

But he’d keep on walking down the hallway, his head screaming one thing or another and the world around him just a dream, numb until a Bad Noise™ came and made him want to throw himself down the stairs even more than he already did.

He’d do whatever he was supposed to for the day, scratch his way through supper, and cry himself to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Maybe it wasn’t sometimes. Maybe it was all the time. Time was hard to track when you’re a teen.

-

 **35.** Sam always wanted a dog, but it wasn’t until he was in his thirties that he finally got to go somewhere and pick himself out one.

To literally nobody’s surprise, it was Gabriel’s idea and Dean hadn’t been consulted about it in the slightest.  Castiel said it would be fine though, and Sam- because of this assurance- went along with the surprise trip to a breeder.

The three piled up in Cas’s “pimp car”, left a note on the door for Dean to read when he woke up, and hauled ass to a place Charlie had recommended with no time to spare. They spent the whole drive debating names while sipping on sweet tea and snacking on quiet cereal bars. (Gabriel made sure Sam ate, though he never forced him into eating but merely kept snacks that were quiet as well as healthy at the ready and made sure they stuck to their meal plan so the man felt the least icky as possible.) Sam and Cas bickered over the air, which resulted in half of an hour of the drive being filled with the sort of argument only two people like Cas and Sam could have where they understood eachother completely even though they weren’t even saying full sentences.

They were having fun, but Gabriel was lost as hell. Maybe it was the new memes in their conversation, maybe it was because they both kept forgetting words so they ended up patiently listening to the other describe an abstract concept for a word before spending two minutes guessing what it could be then finally going back to the argument. Gabe just couldn’t pay attention that long. He tried though, honest.

When they finally arrived, it was noon and they were in front of a house that was in a whole different state than the one they’re began in.

A woman stood out front, her eyes narrowed and hair tied back in a tight pony tail that looked like something from Cadet Kelly. Sam would’ve been afraid if that was all he saw, her steely expression and her military hair. He would’ve latched onto Gabriel’s arm (or maybe Cas’s, but they were careful about touch) and started to fiddle with his shirt to distract himself. But that wasn’t all there was.

She had a plastic pool filled with golden retriever puppies right at her feet. Not near her, no. Right. At. Her. Feet. Sam’s thoughts skipped. He couldn’t remember how upset she looked. All he could think about was the litter of fluffy noodles squirming around in the empty pool.

“Ohmygod.” He whispered, walking forward without thinking and leaning down to run his hand over the poufy masses. “This is the best day of my life.”


End file.
